
Class - 
Book. 



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A LIMITED EDITION OF FIVE HUNDRED 
COPIES PRINTED, OF WHICH THIS IS 



No. 





INFRA NUBEM 

The LIGHTS OUTSIDE 

LA BOCANA 

BY r *^a 
ALEXANDER McADIE 



DECORATIONS BY LUCIA K. MATHEWS 
FRONTISPIECE BY ARTHUR F. MATHEWS 



~jpl)llopolls Series 



SAN FRANCISCO 

A. M. ROBERTSON 
1909 






CCi.A2 5-'- 




PREFATORY NOTE 



The three essays constituting this vol- 
ume are presented for the appreciation of 
the book-lover through the courtesy of 
the author Alexander McAdie, and are 
reprinted from ~pl)ilopoUs magazine of 
the issues for the months of June 1907, 
April 1908 and June 1909. 



,o 



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jOWLED and peni- 
tent like a Friar of 
Orders Gray, the 
City kneels in summer after- 
noons upon the lower steps 
of the altar hills. Beneath 
the cassock of fog — a loose- 
ly woven serge — are hopes, 
prayers, truth, and gentle- 
ness. But also under that 
robe of gray lurk cunning, 
greed, pride, and pretense. 
Like the merciful mantle of 






charity, the fog covers our 
many sins. We who love 
the City, know that the gray 
covering stretched overhead 
while it dims the brightness 
of the sun, is at once our 
richest asset and our great- 
est blessing. 

Would you know some- 
thing of this mantle, then 
climb the hills; for the City 
infra nubem — below the 
fog — is also a City set upon 
hills. From some of the 





upper slopes study this 
wondrously wrought fabric. 
Seen from above, it is no 
longer gray and forbidding, 
but white as driven snow: 
a coverlet that throws back 
into sunlit skies the genial 
warmth of summer days. 
Watch it come into being 
far beyond the Heads. The 
very soul of the sea, it rises 
like a spirit from the breast 
of waters. Through the 
broad Gate in a full-flowing 




A 




tide, it veils the water and 
the land. Seen from below, 
a level sweep and monotone 
of drab; seen from above, 
a ruffled sea of light and 
shade, a billowing cradle 
for the imperious winds. 
Inland it spreads, and 
spreading rarer grows, a 
thin gray line, to die at 
last — if but the eye could 
see — upon the burnished 
wheat fields of the San 
Joaquin: 




un, as it stands 
a moment on the water's 
rim, ere yet it bids our 
western coast "good night" 
sees not a cowled and sad- 
robed penitent; but a fair 
City with a silk white scarf 
loosely waving and far 
flung. Lover of the City, 
is there no lesson in this 
two-fold aspect of the fog? 
Seen in the humdrum sweep 
of daily life, in the rush 
and routine of the business 






s/^ 



o. 



day, your fellow citizens 
are sombre-hued and unat- 
tractive. Seen from a high- 
er vantage ground, fling 
they not back the genial 
warmth of their humanity, 
the sunlight of their truer 
selves ? 

And when the page of 
history shall be turned, and 
all sad monotones of self 
dimmed in the sweep of 
Time, the summed up 
efforts of our hands will 





shine resplendent to those 
who view us from afar. 
Then may the historian of 
our time and place write 
the judgment: 

44 Td\)V£ wrought well, who 
all unknown anb in their 
several wa?s, built this fair 
(Tit?, round whose bright 
breast is wreathed a glorious 
scarf of love wit!) golden 
threads of light, truth and 
justice intertwined/' 





M 



City, climbing the 
western hills about 
sunset, on a day when the 
veil of fog is not too closely 
wrapped around the face of 
' 'Our Lady of the Gate' ' can 
see a stretch of water ex- 
tending from la punta de los 
Reyes to the Islands of St. 
James, better known per- 
haps as Point Reyes and the 
Farallones. The glimmer 

17 






of the western light upon 
the waters is beautiful be- 
yond expression; and if it 
should happen that the 
moon rises ere yet the 
watcher turns away, he 
may be forced, like that 
lover of Athens in days 
long past, to cry out: — 

" So beautiful. 
3t almost fyurts/' 

As night falls, sharp eyes 
can pick up beyond the 





Heads the dim beacon on 
the lightship, while far, far 
away comes occasionally the 
flash from the great lens 
on the Islands Farallones de 
los Frayles — not inappro- 
priately named by the Span- 
iard, the "Lighthouses of 
the Priests". 

Three hundred twenty- 
eight years ago June, 1907, 
Francis Drake, adventurer, 
buccaneer, and incidentally 
sharer of the spoils with 






some eminently respectable 
worthies close to the throne 
of Elizabeth, named the 
gray cliffs to the north 
Nuova Albion. Leaving 
the beach, where for a 
month he had careened 
and repaired the stout little 
Golden Hind, he drove 
southward across this En- 
senada de los Farallones, 
and unaware that the eyes 
of white men had as yet 
beheld these pinnacle rocks, 




m 



called them the Islands of 
St. James* Drake's men 
were probably the first 
Europeans to land on the 
Farallones, and it may come 
as something of an agree- 
able surprise to the people 
of San Francisco to learn 
that twenty-eight years be- 
fore the English language 
was spoken at Jamestown, 
accents of our mother tongue 
were heard upon the rocky 
shelves of the Farallones. 



H 





But Drake was not the 
first white man to behold 
these grim outriders of the 
fair City of St. Francis. 
Cabrillo and Ferrelo, in 
November, 1542, or thirty- 
seven years before Drake, 
had traversed la bahia de 
los Pinos, and from a dis- 
tance sighted the Islands. 
Sailors bold they were. 
Men of blood and bone 
like ourselves, but thrust- 
ing out fearlessly upon the 





unknown sea. Venture- 
some they were, and brave 
as any in the long line of 
those who afterward across 
the plain or over isthmus, 
toiled and won. 

Drake speaks of the Por- 
tus Novae Albionis — the 
Gate of New England — 
and later Spanish explorers 
speak of la Puerta de San 
Francisco, but none of these 
ever saw the Golden Gate 
or entered in. The land- 





<sD; 




fall and the fog probably 
obscured the view. None 
the less it is true that New 
England was originally lo- 
cated on the Gulf of the 
Farallones, and forty-one 
years before the Pilgrim 
Fathers landed on Plym- 
outh Rock, stout English 
throats had lifted a hymn 
of thanksgiving near the 
white cliffs that reminded 
them of home. 

Sailing from Mexico, 

24 




IUT 



twenty-four years after 
Drake's visit, Vizcaino, 
seeking the Cabot de Men- 
docino, experienced south 
winds and work northward. 
Then the weather changes, 
even then as now, and we 
have the first recorded south- 
easter. So hard did it blow, 
the small vessels, the Capi- 
tana San Diego and Fragata 
Los Tres Reyes, labored 
heavily, as well they might. 
On January 7, 1603, the 



[H 





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o, 



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day of the Los (Santos) 
Reyes, these voyagers pass 
the Puerto de San Fran- 
cisco. And the narrative 
then continues: 

"The Fragata, conclud- 
ing there was no necessity 
to seek a harbor, continued 
the voyage, and the Capi- 
tana> thinking they were 
in company, did not show 
a light, so in the morning 
they were not in sight of 
each other, and the Gen- 




eral returned with the Capi- 
tana to the Puerta de San 
Francisco." 

Perhaps it was not so easy 
to display a light as one 
might imagine. But on 
all the face of the waters 
there was not a single light. 
No friendly gleam telling 
of human sympathy in the 
dark. The stars alone were 
the mariners' friends. 

We who look out thro' 
the well lit Gate and mark 





y* 



lightship, the flicker from 
the Farallones and the flash 
from Point Reyes, may well 
do silent homage to the 
memory of those who sailed 
these seas ere yet there was 
a City within the Gate, or 
welcoming lights outside. 





IERUSALEM had 
its Golden Gate, 
which the Turks, 
with due precaution, keep 
walled, lest the Giaour come 
some day, and passing 
through, conquer and take 
possession. For so did the 
prophets of old forecast. 
Our Golden Gate lies open, 
all unwalled, save where the 
hills come down to meet 
the water. Through it be- 

33 






liever and unbeliever pass. 
Alike they enter and depart, 
and all bear testimony to 
the glory of our Gate. 

From the west one does 
not readily perceive the en- 
trance to the Bay of San 
Francisco. The landfall is 
peculiar, and the Marin 
hills in friendly fashion lean 
over and seem to join the 
crests of the southern pen- 
insula, while the back- 
ground, Contra Costa hills, 








make a continuous sky line. 
The early explorers failed 
to discover the Bay from 
without, and never entered 
in. Spaniard and English- 
man sailed by in ignorance 
and their lookouts saw no 
sign. 

From the east the vision 
is of splendor, unobscured. 
Seen from the Berkeley 
hills, La Bocana de la En- 
senada de los Farallones (the 
Gate of the Gulf of the 






Farallones) deserves the 
praise we lavish on it. Sixty 
years and more has it borne 
its present name. Fremont 
in 1848 marked on his sur- 
vey sheet the word Chry- 
sopylae, meaning Golden 
Gate. But nearly four score 
years before the pathfinder, 
came Portola, Crespi and 
Costanso. They sought a 
grand estero, the Port of 
Monterey. They found it, 
but they knew it not, and 




M 



wandered on. Drenched 
by the early rains, they 
made camp near where is 
now Montara. Two day's 
travel would have brought 
them to the Gate. The 
Sergeant and the soldiers 
hunting, saw on All Saints' 
Day the southeast portion 
of the Bay. The General, 
the Captain and the pious 
Padre from the camp 
height saw the outer reaches 
from Bolinas to Point Pedro. 





r— 



T^ ■ 




s/^> 



o, 



Two years pass and still 
Portola fails to find the 
Golden Gate. Then on a 
day in March, Don Pedro 
Fages, with the Padre 
Crespi and twelve soldiers 
toiling slowly along the 
eastern shore camp at el ar- 
royo del Bosque, the Oakland 
estuary. Next day from the 
hills near Berkeley, clear 
and distind; the Gate comes 
into view in line with Alca- 
traz and the far distant 





Farallone rocks known for 
two centuries. The first 
white men who ever saw 
our Gate, not inaptly called 
it, La Bocana. 

Seen at the close of day, 
the tide throws back a 
shimmering flood of light. 
Prone are we then to liken 
it to gold, but 'tis a scant 
and dubious honor to the 
glorious hues. More fitting 
did we call it Gate of Light. 

Stern faced and sombre 




h 




)> 



the Heads frown upon a 
far flung line of scurrying 
foam between us and the 
Lightship, where the bar 
breaks and sullen waters 
moan as they spend their 
> strength. Inside the cliffs, 
the ruffian billows beat their 
foaming crests in vain 
against the unyielding face 
of Lobos; and joyously we 
watch their rout. But at 
Bonita's feet they swirl in 
play and snarl like angry 



)U 




tigers at the whitened tower 
that warns the careless sea- 
man not to swing too near 
the treacherous front. 

Within the Gate the 
stately ship dreads neither 
gale nor shoal. It sails to 
pleasant moorings through 
well guarded depths. The 
anchors hold, there is no 
straining at the chains. 
The wayward wanderer 
of the sea is home and at 
rest. 





■ 



So may that greater 
Voyage end in peace for 
all who come and go our 
way. 




One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



JAN 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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